


Error 404: Brain Cell Not Found

by fairytalesandfolklore



Series: Teen Wolf [14]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College AU, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Stiles Stilinski: Disaster Flirt, Text Messages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29937711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytalesandfolklore/pseuds/fairytalesandfolklore
Summary: Hemeansto send the photo to Scott. Really, he does. But it's barely 9AM and he hasn't had coffee yet so his brain isn't firing on all cylinders, single brain cell chanting an endless chorus ofDerek Derek Derek. Which is how he ends up accidentally sending the photo he'd just taken toDerekinstead, along with the lovely accompanying caption:seriously scotty, just look at him, I think I'm in love.By the time Stiles realizes his mistake, it's too late to hit cancel. He hears the telltale chime of a successfully sent text, the little grayed-outdeliverednotification staring back at him with a mocking checkmark. He glances up, watching in abject horror as Derek pulls out his phone. Clocks his exact time of death as the moment Derek's eyebrows arch high enough to meet his hairline.
Relationships: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Teen Wolf [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2083419
Comments: 46
Kudos: 574





	Error 404: Brain Cell Not Found

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This is a work of fan fiction inspired by _Teen Wolf_. Respective concepts, characters, and settings from the original source content belong to their creator(s). No copyright infringement is intended.

**• • •**

**Text Message From Stiles at 8:15AM:** _I think Derek is trying to kill me_

**Text Message From Scott at 8:20AM:** _What???_

**Text Message From Scott at 8:20AM:** _Why???_

**Text Message From Scott at 8:21AM:** _What did you do this time_

**Text Message From Stiles at 8:22AM:** _Okay, first of all, ouch_

**Text Message From Stiles at 8:23AM:** _Second, because he's wearing this red henley with these adorable little thumbholes, and it's so hot I think I might catch fire and die_

**Text Message From Scott at 8:24AM:** _Oh_

**Text Message From Scott at 8:24AM:** _Hahahahaha_

**Text Message From Scott at 8:24AM:** _Damn, you've really got it bad for this guy_

**Text Message From Stiles at 8:25AM:** _Understatement of the fucking century, bro_

Stiles leans back in his desk at the far corner of the lecture hall, the front legs of his chair swaying dangerously about a foot above the ground as he taps out a slew of replies to his best friend studying to be a vet tech at the opposite end of the country, the monotonous drawl of his bio-chem professor little more than background noise. 

It's fine that he's not paying attention — Mondays are lecture days, and since Stiles had already read the book cover to cover before the term even started, he figures he's allowed to coast. Besides, it's Wednesdays and Fridays — lab days — that really matter. One, because he's all about practical application. Two, because it means he gets to spend time with his lab partner that he's been head over heels _stupid_ for since the first day of class. And right now, the fact that Derek is half a lecture hall away looking _that fucking fine_ is an absolute crime.

Which is exactly what he texts Scott. Repeatedly. With enough crying face, heart eyes, and ghost pepper emojis to fill a Lucky Charms essay. (Hey, he'd had to hear Scott wax poetic about Allison all throughout high school, so it's only fair that Stiles finally gets to return to favor.) He's scrolling through Pinterest, trying to find a color palette that matches the exact hues of Derek's eyes, when his phone buzzes with another notification from Scott.

**Text Message From Scott at 8:35AM:** _You've been sweet on this guy all semester, and I still have no idea what he even looks like_

**Text Message From Stiles at 8:37AM:** _You're right, how rude of me_

**Text Message From Stiles at 8:37AM:** _Hold that thought_

**Text Message From Scott at 8:40AM:** _What do you mean? What are you gonna_

**Text Message From Scott at 8:41AM:** _Wait_

**Text Message From Scott at 8:41AM:** _Stiles, no_

**Text Message From Scott at 8:42AM:** _At least remember to take the flash off!_

Like every other well-meaning warning and _keep out_ sign, Stiles flicks the little notification banner out of the way and proceeds to whip out his camera app. Pretending he's checking his email for next week's homework assignment, Stiles casually tilts his phone to snap a photo of Derek while his head is turned, jotting down notes from the whiteboard. 

It's perfect — clear, in focus, decent lightning — he'd even managed to capture that cute little nose wrinkle Derek does whenever he's concentrating — and it only took him one try. See? He could be subtle. Scott was worried over nothing. With a self-satisfied little smile, Stiles swipes back over to the message thread and begins writing out his reply.

He _means_ to send the photo to Scott. Really, he does. But it's barely 9AM and he hasn't had coffee yet so his brain isn't firing on all cylinders, single brain cell chanting an endless chorus of _Derek Derek Derek_. Which is how he ends up accidentally sending the photo he'd just taken to _Derek_ instead, along with the lovely accompanying caption: _seriously scotty, just look at him, I think I'm in love_.

By the time Stiles realizes his mistake, it's too late to hit cancel. He hears the telltale chime of a successfully sent text, the little grayed-out _delivered_ notification staring back at him with a mocking checkmark. He glances up, watching in abject horror as Derek pulls out his phone. Clocks his exact time of death as the moment Derek's eyebrows arch high enough to meet his hairline. 

His heartbeat is a wild, thunderous thing, pulsing through him like a jackhammer. Every inch of his skin feels like it's simultaneously buzzing and on fire. Paralysis creeps over him like a fast-acting venom, hands shaking as he sends a flurry of rapid-fire apology texts.

**Text Message From Stiles at 8:45AM:** _Oh my god I am so sorry, that was meant for my friend Scott_

**Text Message From Stiles at 8:46AM:** _Not that that explains why I just creepily took a photo of you and then sent it to you_

**Text Message From Stiles at 8:47AM:** _And then confessed that I've got an embarrassingly huge crush on you_

**Text Message From Stiles at 8:48AM:** _Jesus fuck I'm just making this so much worse_

**Text Message From Stiles at 8:49AM:** _That settles it. After class I am driving to the coast and walking straight into the ocean._

Post-lecture plans sorted, Stiles jams his phone back into his pocket and sits there, staring down at his desk in panic-stricken silence. He's not normally one to wish for natural disasters, but given the fact that _he_ feels like a natural disaster at the moment, he's kind of hoping for a bigger one to come along and cancel him out — a tsunami, a sharknado, a black hole, a meteor, _anything_ — didn't he just read an article the other day about how the sun is supposed to explode and take out the earth? Why couldn't that happen right now? Why couldn't—

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he nearly leaps out of his seat, fishing it out with the same level of trepidation as a march to the gallows.

_One new message from Derek Hale._

Fuck. 

_This is it_ , he thinks. This is the moment where everything changes. He'd spent all semester working up a steady flirt, getting the guy to laugh at his lame jokes, casually dropping random bits of trivia about their coursework well before Professor Harris covered it so Derek would think he was smart, getting to know all of his favorite bands and books and movies and tv shows. 

Hell, he even knew how the guy took his _coffee_ — black, with a dash of hazelnut creamer — after overhearing his usual order in the school café, delighting in the way Derek's eyes lit up every time he'd show up to class with an "extra" cup he'd ordered "by mistake" and offer it to Derek with a casual, O _h cool, that's your favorite flavor too? What a crazy, random happenstance._

All that time spent pretending he actually knew what the fuck he was doing when it comes to romance, and then he goes it ruins it by being…well, _himself_.

Stiles takes a deep, steadying breath as he slides his thumb over the notification bar and opens up their chat history, dread washing over him at all the possibilities of what he might encounter — a scathing rejection, or— _oh god_ , maybe even a photo of Derek's super hot secret boyfriend, just to rub it in — but no, that's not the kind of person Derek is. If anything, he'll probably be really _nice_ about it and let him down gently, which is honestly _worse._

Whatever he's expecting, it definitely isn't—

…his own face? Or, more accurately, a photo of _himself_ —hair sticking up at gravity-defying angles from rolling straight out of bed and rushing to class earlier this morning, hooded sweatshirt a perfect match for the furious blush blossoming beneath the smattering of moles and freckles scattered across his cheekbones and the column of his throat — followed by a single line of text.

**Text Message From Derek at 8:55AM:** _Since we're sharing, here's the guy I've got a crush on_

Stiles's gaze snaps up so fast he nearly kinks his neck, heart fluttering inside his chest at the sight of Derek staring back at him from across the crowded lecture hall with a big goofy grin on his face. By the time Stiles manages to school his features into something other than open-mouthed shock, Derek has already looked away, eyes cast downward as he taps out another text. Seconds later, Stiles's phone lights up.

**Text Message From Derek at 8:57AM:** _So you gonna ask him out, or what?_

Stiles stares a hard line down at his phone, hardly daring to believe it. He wills his one working brain cell to think of something clever, something charming, something that'll sweep Derek right off his feet — wills his hands to move so that he can write back _something_ , anything at all, instead of just hovering uselessly over the keyboard — when the bell rings, signaling the end of class, and a third text appears in the thread.

**Text Message From Derek at 9:00AM:** _I guess I'll just have to do it myself ;)_

Stiles wonders, vaguely, if it's possible to die from heatstroke from the temperature of your own skin. At the very least, he's destined for a heart attack, with the rate his pulse is pounding. Derek — snarky, surly eyebrows, _will growl at you like a feral wolf if he hasn't had his morning coffee_ — just texted him a winking emoji, and Stiles thinks he might genuinely _die_ from sheer lack of oxygen.

He glances up in time to see Derek striding purposefully toward him, worn leather jacket draped over his shoulders, textbook tucked under one arm. He comes to an abrupt halt in front of Stiles's desk, and for a moment, he looks just as nervous as Stiles feels.

"Hey," he says in a would-be casual tone, but the smile that curls across his lips is nothing short of _giddy_ , the tips of his ears a delicate shade of pink.He takes a deep breath, fiddling with a small tear in one of the thumbholes of his henley, and says, "So, I'm thinking coffee at that new place that just opened up down the street. You in?"

There's the slightest tremor to his voice as he speaks, and Stiles nearly surges forward and kisses him right then and there, because it's just about the cutest goddamn thing he's ever seen.

" _Yes_ ," he says in a breathless rush, nearly toppling over his desk and bowling over half his classmates as he slings his backpack over his shoulder. "Oh my god, _yes_. I am _so_ in."

Derek merely chuckles and shakes his head, all fond exasperation as he reaches down to lace his fingers with Stiles's, giving his hand an affectionate, reassuring squeeze, before steering them in the direction of the quaint little coffee shop downtown.

**• • •**


End file.
